It Must Be Christmas Time
by Maxiekat
Summary: The empty chairs at the dinner table haunt Bobby so he rushes out of the house during Christmas dinner to visit Jack in the hospital. One Shot. COMPLETE


Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _2000 Miles_ by The Pretenders. I know I missed Christmas by a little over a week, but I finally finished this tonight and thought I'd share it. It takes place during the beginning of _Write Your Own Song_. Thanks for reading and I hope everyone has a wonderful New Year!

**It Must Be Christmas Time**

_These frozen and silent nights,  
Sometimes in a dream,  
You appear._

Bobby stared at the two empty chairs at the table without blinking. Everyone around him was eating, shoveling food into their mouths, silverware clanking on his mother's china. All acting like it was fucking normal for those two chairs to be empty. He pushed his chair back, not caring that it screeched across the floor, probably making a deep gouge in the wood. House was full of bullet holes, one scrape across the dining room floor wasn't going to make a goddamn bit of difference.

"This ain't right. I can't do this," he announced as he stood up, eyes still locked on the chair directly across from his.

"Bobby, it's Christmas," Jerry hissed under his breath, nodding towards his two daughters who were eating at the kiddy table in the corner, totally ignoring the adults in the room.

"I know it's fucking Christmas, Jerry," he shot back, "and that's why this is wrong. You can all sit there, eating and chattering away like this ain't fucked up, but Ma ain't here," he took a breath, "and Jack ain't here. Sorry if that means I'm not in the mood for homemade cranberry sauce and whatever in the hell you call that shit Sophie did to the turkey."

"Screw you, Bobby," Sophie said, tossing her fork on the plate, her eyes flashing.

"Not in front of the kids, La Vida Loca. Maybe later."

"This ain't the time for that," Angel said, looking like he was in no mood to referee yet another fight between his bother and girlfriend.

"I know it ain't the time for that, which is why I'm getting the hell out of here." Bobby had his coat on and was out the door before anyone could muster the energy to tell him to stay.

XxXxXxXxXx

The canned Christmas music echoed down the halls, it's cheerfulness out of place against the stark whiteness of the walls and the sense of impending doom that lurked around every drawn curtain and behind every closed door.

"You need to eat," the nurse said as she entered his room to check on him. Jack raised an eyebrow as he pushed the non-descript white meat around in the congealed brown goo someone had the nerve to call gravy.

"Give me food and I'll gladly eat," he said glumly and she laughed. He grinned despite his best efforts to mope through his sad excuse for a holiday. He couldn't help it – she was cute and he was trapped in bed with a shot up knee and shoulder and no one to keep him company.

She picked up his plate and wrinkled her nose. "Any diet restrictions?"

He shook his head. He had no clue if he had any diet restrictions, but if they were feeding him sludge, he hated to think what a restricted plate of food would look like.

Sighing, she sat the plate down. "I'll be right back, but you have to promise you won't tell."

He crossed his heart and gave his best lost puppy expression. "I swear."

By the time she came back into the room, he had a feast prepared in his mind, but the Tupperware containers she brought in didn't disappoint despite not having his mother's pumpkin pie hiding in one of them. "My Christmas dinner," she explained as she started opening containers and spooning food onto the paper plates she'd brought in with her. "My first month at Henry Ford means I get to work Christmas day and New Years."

"Sucks," Jack said and she shrugged.

"It's not so bad." She winked and he was starting to think that maybe Christmas wasn't going to be a complete wash after all. He glanced at her badge, realizing he had no idea what her name was. _Mary_. He liked it – nice and simple. Okay, maybe a bit predictable with it being Christmas and all.

Jack was taking a bite of turkey and stuffing that was doused in homemade gravy when Bobby walked in. "Here I thought you'd be crying yourself to sleep because we'd left you alone on Christmas and you got a chick in your room and you're stuffing your face."

Jack swallowed. "Hey, Bobby."

"Merry Christmas," Mary said brightly as she got up from the chair next to Jack's bed. She sat her plate on the side table and held her hand out for Bobby to shake, which he ignored, as usual.

"Merry Christmas," Bobby mumbled. "You new here? Did the kid tell you he likes it up the ass."

"Bobby," Jack choked.

"What? I was talking about thermometers. Jesus, Jack, stop being so fucking sensitive."

"Um …" Mary couldn't have looked more uncomfortable if she tried. Fumbling with the stethoscope hanging around her neck that started to slide off her shoulder, she made a show of looking at her watch. "I've lost track of time. I need to do rounds. Sorry, Jack, I'll be back later for the … um … containers. Just leave them on the tray." She quickly left the room and Jack glared at his brother.

"Thanks a lot, man."

"You're welcome," Bobby said as he flopped down in the now empty chair. He picked up the plate Mary left and looked it over, sniffed it and shrugged, grabbing the fork.

Jack sighed. "Man, don't eat her dinner."

"I'm hungry."

"Then go get a candy bar from the vending machine or something. She's nice and you're being an ass." Jack slouched back against his pillows, crossing his arms, annoyed.

Bobby shook his head and made a tsking sound. "That's real sweet of you, Jackie. I come all this way to keep you company and you call me names. I even got you a present."

Jack looked up. "You did?"

Bobby tossed him a box. It was wrapped in pink paper and had a sparkly white bow stuck to it. Jack opened it like it was a bomb about to go off.

It wasn't a bomb, it was something worse.

"A Barbie doll?"

"You don't have that one yet, do you, sweetheart?"

"Fuck you, man." Jack tossed the box aside and was about to crumble up the wrapping paper and chuck it when the tag caught his eye. He read it outloud. "To Daniela, from Santa."

He balled up the paper and threw it at Bobby's head. "You stole a present from a little kid?"

Bobby shrugged.

"You stole a present from a little kid who happens to be your niece? That's low, man, even for you."

Bobby ignored Jack's and took a bite of turkey, closing his eyes and letting out a low moan. "Shit. I don't care if you are gay, marry this chick, Jack. This blows the dried-up carcass La Vida Loca tried to poison us with right out of the water."

"So you guys ate dinner already?" Jack tried to keep the longing out of his voice, but he couldn't help it. He was lonely and starting to go a little stir crazy. Mary was the first person he'd had an actual conversation with that day who wasn't just bugging him to find out if he needed help taking a piss or waking him up to make him take pills that would help him sleep.

"More or less," Bobby said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"What does that mean?"

"I left in the middle of dinner."

"Why?"

Bobby shrugged. "You know me and family stuff. It gives me hives."

Jack grinned. "You missed me."

Barking out a laugh, Bobby almost tipped over in his chair. "Right, Jackiepoo, you got me. Couldn't go on knowing your fairy-ass was trapped in the hospital, barely clinging onto life as we celebrated having extra shitty cooking to eat because your mouth wasn't there to feed."

"Whatever. I know I'm right, man. You just won't admit it," Jack mumbled as he reached for the remote, turning on the TV attached to the ceiling. He started flipping through the channels, not even really noticing what was on. He could get through all of them in thirty-five seconds flat. He timed himself the other day.

"Ma's seat was empty," Bobby said quietly and Jack stopped what he was doing, his breath catching in his chest, making his healing ribs tighten and ache.

"It was empty at Thanksgiving." Jack forced the words out, managing to keep the tremble in his voice under control. His whole world shook, though. When he woke up from his coma, it was like losing her all over again. He kept forgetting, kept thinking he was going to see her again, that she'd walk through the door, smooth his hair back, and ask him if he was okay. He'd dreamt it so many times that he was sure it had happened, that he could even still feel the warmth of her hand as it laid against his forehead, testing for a fever like she used to do when he was a kid.

"I know, but I was cleaning up, trying to fix everything from the …" Bobby waved his hand, suddenly mute.

"Shooting," Jack finished for him, the word hollowing him out.

"Yeah. Found presents. She had them wrapped and everything."

Jack started flipping through the channels again, willing himself not to cry. He settled on a random football game, not giving a shit who was playing but hoping to have something to focus on besides his suddenly emotionally unstable older brother.

"Did you count them like you always do?" Jack asked lightly, referring to Bobby's yearly tradition of counting the presents under the tree to see who got the most stuff. If he came up short, he'd tear a name off of someone else's present, usually Jerry's, and claim it as his own.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Maybe."

Jack smiled. "Knew it."

"Anyway. It just hit me – she should be here."

Jack took a deep breath, welcoming the pain, remembering how close he'd come to never feeling pain again. "I know."

"Killing Sweet didn't change that." Bobby sounded angry and sad – and tired. It had been a long month since Thanksgiving and the funeral that brought them all home.

"Killing a thousand people wouldn't change that, Bobby," Jack said quietly. "Life doesn't work that way."

They sat in silence. The game was on, the sound so low it might as well have been turned off. Jack picked up his plate again, taking another bite even though he wasn't hungry anymore. Bobby had given up on eating Mary's Christmas dinner and he was staring straight ahead, out the door – what he was actually seeing, Jack couldn't begin to guess. He'd stared out that door lots of times in the past week since waking up and had seen his life play out before him in that hallway. Laying in bed gave you too much time to think and an active imagination gave that thinking way too vivid a picture to go along with it.

Jack had tuned out the Christmas music in the hallway ages ago, but he suddenly took notice of the song that had just started playing.

_Silent Night._

Bobby looked at Jack, his expression guarded but hopeful – well, as hopeful as Bobby Mercer could ever look.

"Ma's favorite," Jack said, letting the words and memories wash over him. Evelyn would make them sing carols on Christmas Eve. She liked stuff like that – traditions. Jack knew she wanted to make their lives as normal as possible and it didn't get much more normal than a bunch of would-be hoodlums dressed in matching sweaters, singing _Silent Night_. Jack laughed, imaging his mother as she sat in her recliner by the fireplace and conducted the four of them as they warbled half heartedly through every chorus. His first Christmas with the Mercers, he was too scared to sing and Evelyn let him sit next to her, crammed into that old chair, her arm over his shoulders as he silently wished for a family like hers for his very own.

"Merry Christmas, Bobby," he said, really meaning it.

Bobby settled back in his chair, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume on the game. "Merry Christmas, Jackie."

"Oh, and Bobby …" Jack started.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Tomorrow you gotta give the Barbie doll back."


End file.
